


John Verse One

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Corruption, Demon, Demon Sex, Hallucinogens, Heavy Angst, Joger Week 2019, M/M, Sex, anti catholic, anti christianity, anti religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 17:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: “I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages.”He felt dizzy. Bile rose in this throat. He wondered if he had died. It was getting harder to breath, harder to believe he was real.A faint chuckle ripped through the silence. It was bright and beautiful. John gasped, trying to orient himself towards the wonderful sound. It wouldn’t take much effort.





	John Verse One

**Author's Note:**

> READ. THE. TRIGGER WARNINGS. IN. THE. TAGS. THIS FIC IS TRIGGER HEAVY. READ THEM.  
I DO NOT CONSENT TO MINORS READING THIS FIC.  
Okay now with that out of the way, here's my big fic for joger week. A messed up idea for the theme Supernatural.  
Sorry for making Brian an alpha male here, it's tragic but it had to be done.  
Sorry also for everything else.  
Tonight you belong to me by Patience and Prudence kind of spurred this idea.  
Uhhhhh have fun?  
My blog is InHopeIBreathe on tumblr.

_“He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe.” John 1: 2-5 NIV_

♚

John sighed, his head rolling back, his eyes fluttered shut. He licked his lips, a soft groan rumbling in his chest. A faint “Jesus Christ,” dripped out of his mouth and into the air of the dark cramped closet.

“You missed this, haven’t you? You’ve missed my cock, you whore,” a husky voice panted out, their hand gripped firmly around both of their leaking cocks, wanking them off slowly.

John nodded, biting back a moan, letting out a pathetic whimper in its place. He bucked his hips some into their fist, wanting more of that hot friction on his prick. “I am. I am a whore for you. G-God, go faster, Brian,” John whispered, high pitched and wanton, hips rocking desperately into the older man.

His cheek suddenly caught aflame. John gasped, turning his face away to clutch his bright red and throbbing cheek, taken off guard by the abrupt slap to the face. Brian’s fingers flew to his chin, gruffly turning John back to look him, his hazel eyes fuming. “_What have I told you?_ Do **not** call me Brian. It’s Father May,” he hissed and spat, his thumb digging into the skin of John’s chin.

The young Deacon nodded; his grey eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry, Father May,” he stammered, leaning away from the incensed priest. Father May stared at John for a moment before a heavenly smile graced his lips. His hand went soft against John’s chin, sliding over to caress his jawline.

“You dirty slut. Did you feel how hard you got when being punished? You love it, don’t you? You love when I discipline you,” Father May cooed, his smile growing when John’s face went impossibly red, his mouth opening ever so slightly for him if he so chose to shove his fingers inside for John to suck on.

He did. He loved nothing more than to kneel before Father May and let him have his way with him. Every slap to the face or ass was enough to make his cock ache. Every quiet fuck they had to do was something he fantasized about when they couldn’t.

John the Deacon loved to serve his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He felt no higher honor than eating his flesh and drinking his blood every Sunday.

But John the Whore craved nothing more than to have his Father down his throat, swallowing up every last bit of his ‘communion’.

“I love it when you punish me, Father. I need it. I need it so badly. Need you so badly,” John whined out, daring to touch Father May’s chest, his fingers dragging down the soft fabric of his cassock.

Brian’s nostrils flared, his demeanor going stern. “Bend over,” he ordered, making John’s heart leap. He obeyed without another word.

Anything for Father May.

♚

“Thank you so much for your visit, Gregory. I hope to see you here for mass this Sunday. Just remember, those unholy urges can be resisted. God’s word will lead you to a woman who will take away all those sinful thoughts,” John said with a bright smile as he shook the hand of man who had wandered in to ask some questions about the church while Father May conducted confessions.

“No, _thank you, _Deacon John. I will definitely be here. I want to change,” the man said, the spark of Jesus Christ’s love visible in his glittering green eyes.

John pat the top of his hand, chuckling. “Just call me John. And until Sunday, may God be with you. Safe travels, Gregory,” he said as he parted ways with the man.

As the man walked out, John looked at the clock and shuddered. Confessions would be over in just minutes and the church would close for the night. Meaning it’d just be him and Father May, tidying up the pews and altars for the coming day. John had never been so happy for a flu to take down most of the clergy. Praise God for flu season.

With his alb swishing around his ankles, John went about cleaning up as much as he could before confessions were over. He limped down the pews, picking up stray bibles and struggled to climb the three steps to the pulpit to refill the bottles of holy water and sacramental oils. Three drops of the olive oil fell onto his fingers and he licked his lips at the memory of what had happened only hours before.

John was broken from his daydreams when footsteps echoed off the stone floors. Like a dog, John turned back to face the source of the noise with a big grin, his face melting into a frown when he heard Father May cough.

Father May stopped some feet before John, coughing again into the crook of his elbow. He cleared his throat before saying, “It seems I’ve caught the bloody bug too,” he coughed again and rubbed his nose. “I’m going to go home early and see if I can beat this thing. Close up for me, will you? You know where the keys are, right?”

John nodded, his heart sinking.

“Good. Don’t stay too late, John. God willing, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Father May said with a wave, walking towards the back of the church to gather his things, hobbling out with a few miserable coughs.

The young Deacon frowned at his ruined plans but continued preparing the church for another day of quiet prayers and weepy confessions, reminding himself that his service to the Lord was his first priority.

He wiped down the confessional box with disinfectant, hoping to keep the flu at bay. He locked the front door. Blew out the candles on the various candelabras and replaced some of the sticks. Swept the floor. Straightened up the cloth on the altar. By the time 9 o’clock came, he felt the church was practically sparkling. Father May would be so proud of him. And when he was proud, John was rewarded.

John smiled to himself as he made his way back to turn off the last few lights, ready to leave for the night. Before his hand could even reach the light switch, all the lights in the church flickered off.

The church was drowned in a consuming darkness, one he hadn’t experienced before. Electricity in this part of town was finicky. John and the clergy having spent many nights bumping around, trying to light candles to illuminate their way through the halls and doorways

But the glow of the moon always leaked in through the stained-glass windows, giving them some assistance in making their way through the church.

John looked around, trying to orient himself towards those windows that were a life saver many nights before, but he couldn’t find them. Was it a cloudy night?

He groped around in the darkness, looking for a wall to give him some direction. His fingertips found one. He jumped back at the shock, shaking his assaulted finger pads. The wall was ice cold. He touched it again to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. His body erupted in goosebumps as he touched the wall, backing away from it as his breathing hitched and sped up.

This was wrong. This was very wrong.

A silence, one not dissimilar to the one experienced in sleep, fell like a blanket over John, his ears ringing as they struggled to hear something, _anything_.

Without thinking, John reached into his alb, pulling out the golden cross necklace he had tucked away. He rubbed the warm metal between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes darting fruitlessly around the dark. Anxiety crept up his spine, his mind spinning with troubled thoughts. What on God’s green earth was happening?

He yelped when he bumped into another wall, his back tingling from the brief exposure to the inhumanly cold surface. His limbs were prickling painfully.

Out of habit, words started to quietly pour from John’s mouth. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

The air grew frigid. His breath crystalized on his lips. His skin went numb. His knees wobbled as he shivered. He said the Lord’s Prayer louder, taking cautious steps in any direction he could, wanting to get away from whatever this was.

“Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

His lungs felt as though ice was forming inside of them, every breath sending shards into his throat and windpipe. He spoke faster and louder, bumping against walls that felt like they shouldn’t have been there. His brain was banging against his skull, his heart threatening to slice through his rib cage.

“I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages.”

He felt dizzy. Bile rose in this throat. He wondered if he had died. It was getting harder to breath, harder to believe he was real.

A faint chuckle ripped through the silence. It was bright and beautiful. John gasped, trying to orient himself towards the wonderful sound. It wouldn’t take much effort.

All the candles in the church erupted into light, their small flames flickering wildly. John could see again.

The church was awash in a warm red and yellow tone, a comforting heat spreading through his body. He dropped the cross in his hands, shocked at the sudden change in atmosphere. He looked around and noticed he was in the same spot he was standing before the lights turned off. Even after all the panicked ambling he had done.

He cautiously walked towards the nave of the church, looking at everything around him as if had never seen this church before. A soothing feeling dripped down from his head to his toes. Everything felt right again. He couldn’t remember the terror that had gripped his cells just moment ago. All he knew was peace and wonderment.

He walked past the pulpit and in between the pews, his hands touching everything, a sense of awe over coming him. He should be worried. He should be scared. He wasn’t.

His ears twitched when he heard something metallic roll across the stone floor. He looked down and all around himself to find it, but whatever it was, it evaded him. He crouched down by a pew to get a better look, cringing as he did so, his ass still terribly sore from earlier. He clicked his tongue when he found nothing, standing back up, only to scream when his eyes landed on the altar.

Immediately, John began the Credo again, fumbling to grab the cross hanging from his neck and hold it out before him.

“God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father, through him all things were made. For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven, and became man, and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man.”

The being that reclined on the table of the altar smiled. It sat up, the candles falling to the floor but remaining lit. The holy water and oil shattered, bleeding out onto the floor, mixing in with the wax.

“Shut up,” it said in a voice that sounded like wind chimes forged in the pits of hell.

John continued even when he couldn’t find the strength to bring his voice out from past his lips.

“For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate, he suffered death and was buried, and rose again on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.”

John’s perseverance made it sneer, revealing rows and glittering diamond like teeth, every last one sharpened to a sickening point. Its black feet touched the ground as it stood up, steam and sparks shooting out from the soles.

“He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead and his kingdom will have no end. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son, who with the Father and the Son is adored and glorified, who has spoken through the prophets,” John barely whispered, his legs threatening to collapse under him, his bladder emptied, staining his white alb golden.

With yellow eyes that sputtered like lava, it observed John, it’s head tilting, wild blond hair contrasting against its ash covered cheeks. It blinked, that sinister smirk still on its face.

It took one step forward, laughing when John fell backwards, tears streaming down his face.

“I believe in one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church. I confess-“

“Shut up!” It barked, this time having had enough of John’s stuttering and stammering. It walked down the pulpit, stopping some feet in front of the soiled and blubbering Deacon.

John was finally able to make out the thing in front of him. It was a demon, no doubt. A magnificent one. It stood tall with clawed and ashen hands and feet and a beautifully fire kissed body. Its eyes were sharp and piercing. It’s mouth devilish. All over its skin were markings he recognized as Aramaic, all of them glowing with what could only be the power of the inferno. And on its shoulders, two charred stubs.

“We both know you don’t believe a word you speak,” it said as it chanced another step towards John. John scrambled backwards, hyperventilating. This must have been a horrendous fever dream. He must be home in bed with the flu, sleeping and fighting through a high fever with nothing but night terrors to guide him to recovery. That must be it. He so desperately wanted that to be it.

“This isn’t a dream. And you should be so lucky that it’s not,” the creature said, pointing a clawed finger towards John, something almost playful about the action. John didn’t find it very humorous, especially since his thoughts were just read by that thing.

“W-What is this? What are you?” John sputtered as he swayed from where he sat, the energy vibrating off the entity dizzying. It made the air almost too thick to breathe. All his sense were amplified. The fear in his stomach gurgled.

It laughed. “I thought you’d never ask.” It slowly approached the trembling John, it’s eyes on the Deacon like a predator watching prey. The closer it got, the warmer John felt. Sweat began to trickle down his temple. He would’ve pissed again if he could.

It crouched down to John’s eye level and held out a hand, wanting to help John up. John refused the hand and remained frozen onto the ground, his chest heaving, the oppressive force radiating off the creature locking his joints into place.

“Oh, fine. You can know my name first. I’m Hrōþigēraz. Or Hróðgeirr. Or Hroðgar. But you, my sweet, may call me Roger,” It said with a voice that resembled flower fields on fire. It offered its hand again. Shakily, John took it. It was uncomfortably hot.

As they stood up, John realized the magnitude of this creature. It towered over him. He had to look up like a child to see it’s face. He broke out into goosebumps. His legs could barely support his weight.

“What is this?” John whispered, quivering. This was no servant of the Lord. This was something straight from hell. What would it want with a man of God?

“A proposition,” it- Roger said, its hot breath smelling like smoldering wood.

John took a step back, his hand clasping his cross again. “I refuse to work for the devil,” he said, confidence coming from his faith in the Alpha and Omega.

Roger snorted and then broke out into a deep chuckle, clutching his sides from how hard it was laughing. It pretended to wipe away a tear before it abruptly got serious, burning holes into John with its gaze. “You use that mouth of yours to lie so easily. And to suck so greedily. All under the roof of the house of your God.”

Its words made John exhale steeply, his shoulders slumping. How did it- “I am a servant to God. I refuse to do any of your biddings. I rebuke you in the-“ Roger stopped John’s holier than thou speech by reaching over and snatching the cross from John’s neck, easily snapping it off and tossing it to the floor.

His hand did not burst into flames as John thought it would. It touched a holy object and remained unharmed. John swallowed hard, looking at his golden chain reflect the burning candles around it.

“You can fool yourself but not me. You aren’t a man of anything but sin. A man of lust. A man of selfishness and lies and want. A man who wears the frock only to hide the passion in his groin. I see right through you, you pathetic little thing,” it spat, closing the space between them, carefully grabbing John’s chin to force eye contact.

A sneer spread across its face.

“Even now, Deacon John? With a minion of Hell standing before you on consecrated ground, you can’t stop yourself? Father May was right. You are nothing but a whore,” Roger purred, able to sense the blood rushing to John’s cock.

John let out a pathetic whimper and licked his lips. Roger was beautiful in a dangerous way. Its voice was like poisoned honey and its face like an angel carved from cinnabar. He always had problems controlling his needs.

Roger smiled, gently dragging a claw across John’s cheek. “And that’s exactly why I chose you,” he said softly, his claw running over John’s bottom lip.

John pressed himself up to Roger, ignoring the searing heat. “What do you want me to do?”

Roger ran a hand through John’s long hair, humming something flat before it spoke. “Be mine.” John wobbled.

“This holy world wasn’t meant for you. People like you belong with me. In a world of flame and ferality. Where you bow to your urges. Where you bow to me,” Roger said, twirling a lock of John’s hair. “You’d need not hide your true self in broom closets. Need not to defile that sacred oil. You’d have everything you could ever want. With me.”

John placed his hands on Roger’s sweltering chest, staring up at him desperately. “How?” Roger grinned. He expected nothing less.

“Like this,” Roger said, lifting up John’s soiled alb, dropping it to the floor. He pushed John’s underwear down until it was at his feet. John stepped out of them. And then John kicked off his shoes. And then his socks. The stone floor was warm.

Roger took a moment to admire the naked John shivering before him, candlelight illuminating his flesh. Pale skin. Shapely thighs. Big grey doe eyes. Almost like a virgin. _Almost_. He’d be perfect.

It held out its hand for John, John taking it immediately. He was led past the pews, up the pulpit and to the altar. There was something about being naked in the nave of the church that made John aroused. It was utterly wrong and therefore, so deliriously delicious.

Roger tapped the part of the altar where he wanted John to stand. John stood there, behind the altar, facing the church he’d spent so many years in. Once as a baby and then an altar boy and then higher and higher until he was where he was. A tainted Deacon.

“Bend over,” Roger commanded in a husky voice.

John obeyed.

Anything for Master Roger.

He spread his feet apart, leaning down until he reached the altars tabletop, his ass high in the air. He was ready.

Roger chuckled, running a claw up the curve of John’s ass, leaving a trail of beaded blood behind. John hissed, his cock twitching. “You’re brilliant, my pet. Absolutely brilliant. Can’t believe you wasted all those years serving the wrong master,” it said, grabbing a hold of John’s hips.

John couldn’t either.

He bit his lip and grunted when Roger began to push into him. He was much bigger than Father May. And blistering hot. And there was a scaly texture to its prick that made the hair on John’s neck stand up. But somehow, this was all intoxicatingly pleasurable.

The candles in the room grew brighter, smoke billowing out from every corner, the church filling with the scent of frankincense. John’s eyes fluttered shut, resting his cheek against the table, enjoying the sensation of being filled all the way up.

Roger groaned when it was fully inside the Deacon, his breath already ragged against John’s back. He waited a moment, just a moment, for John to stretch around him before he began to thrust.

Stars exploded in John’s vision. This already was unlike any encounter he had before. His every atom was quivering and moaning. His skin was on fire, the claws digging into him feeling better than anything he’s ever felt. His prostate was already abused, and they’d barely just begun.

John rocked his hips back to meet Roger’s thrusts, moaning wantonly, a line of drool escaping his mouth. His eyes were rolled back, his cock leaking all over his stomach. “_Oh my god. Oh my god, Roger. Oh my god_,” John babbled.

Roger pounded into John, panting out, “You take me so well, pet. You take my prick so well. Like the slut you are.”

“I do. I lo-“ John yelped when his hair was pulled, his neck snapping back, his throat now exposed. He took at as a silent order to be quiet. He swallowed his words, whining instead.

Roger leaned over John, maintaining its rough pace and nibbled John’s ear lobe, drawing blood. A serpent like tongue lapped it up before it whispered, “Good boy.” John melted at the praise, his body going limp as Roger fucked him good.

Roger’s lips found their way to John’s white throat, pressing a scorching kiss into the skin. John clenched around it in reaction to the kiss. Roger smiled, tentatively sucking on where he had placed the kiss. And then he bit down.

Pain shattered in John’s core before it morphed into an addicting desire. He gasped, cumming all over the altar linens and himself.

Roger didn’t stop his assault on John’s hole.

He didn’t need to.

John was still hard.

With red dripping down his neck as Roger drank from it and his body experiencing wave after wave of pleasure, John was an incoherent mess of a once holy man. He wanted to be this degraded forever.

John wheezed as the orgasmic haze clouded his mind. He looked in front of him at the empty pews, imagine what it’d be like to be fucked raw in front of church goers. How deplorable and disgusting that would be. They’d cry heresy and dissent, but John wouldn’t care. With his ass filled with an otherworldly cock, he _couldn’t_ care.

He looked beyond the pews to the stained-glass windows, the one in the center of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Her beautiful brown eyes, once staring up in wonder, looked over to him, a sapphire tear running down her cheek. She shook her head and looked away to weep.

The statue that stood before her of her son, Jesus Christ hanging on the cross shook, his head hanging low. He peeked up to look at John before he let out a sob, his head, hands and foot oozing blood.

It was glorious.

John was struck by the power coursing through his veins, courtesy of the demon inside him. He brought these two entities to their very knees by his betrayal. What more could he do? What more could he feel?

With eyes half lidded, fingers gripping onto the altar linens, John cried, “I wish to serve you! I want to spend my days kneeling by your feet. I want to serve you!”

Roger laughed quietly, cocking its head to the side to see those lovely grey eyes of John’s. It used the blunt end of his claw to stroke John’s chin. “My darling, you already are.”

There was a snap.

Roger growled as it came inside the once Deacon, its hips bucking wildly. It took a minute to catch its breath before it pulled out of John. John’s body crumpled to the floor of the pulpit, his neck bent at an odd angle.

His body was littered with black bruises and burns, broken bones jutting out from his skin. His mouth and nose trickled with blood and fluid, his asshole nothing more than a gaping hole leaking red stained cum. His throat was covered in bite marks and his eyes pink from the burst blood vessels, the familiar film already sapping away their shine.

Hrōþigēraz stepped back from the mess, wiping its mouth of John’s life nectar and sighed contentedly. The frankincense always made them hallucinate a gentler experience. It was for the best. Taking a soul was easier when they cooperated.

It crouched down, brushing some hair out of John’s face. It pressed a feather light kiss onto his forehead before it dragged his corpse to the front of the altar for everyone to see. For _someone_ to see.

Hrōþigēraz walked to the back of the church, the stone beneath his feet crackling and steaming. He stood in front of the stained-glass windows depicting Mother Mary and baby Christ and simply admired them.

Humans were dumb. Mindless things no better than an animal following their instincts. But they made beautiful things. Delicate and intricate things that ultimately meant nothing.

It touched the colorful cold glass with its fingertip, running down the flow of Mary’s dress. Empty. The gesture of carving saints into marble and dying glass shimmering jewel tones was empty. It was pointless. It fell on deaf ears and blind eyes. That god was long gone, devoured millennia ago by something bigger, greater.

All the gods were. The Hindus and the Jews and the Zoroastrians, _all of them_, worshipped gods who were digested and shit out before the stars were formed. There was nothing to protect these feeble, dull minded humans from it and others like it.

_Oh_, but the Catholics. It loved the Catholics the most. Their hearts were plated in gold to protect the pure decay inside. All this holy talk while living the lives of a devil. It loved them. Their souls tasted the best. Hrōþigēraz liked rotten things and that Deacon was putrid.

It leaned against the glass, the colors melting and bubbling from its heat. It exhaled softly. It was full. But it’d made room for seconds.

♚

Father May coughed and sniffled, a scarf wrapped around his neck as he fiddled with the keys in his shaky hands. _A flu mustn’t stop the Lord’s work_, he thought as he jammed the key into the keyhole, prying open the back doors to the church.

He walked in and sneezed, wiping his nose before setting down his belongings, quickly walking to the nave of the church to see how well the young Deacon cleaned up. John had locked up before, but he always had to check. He could be ditsy at times. Plus, if he did well, Father May would see to it that he gets rewarded.

He smiled to himself walking past a certain broom closet. His smile faltered when his stuffed nose caught a whiff of something.

Salt and iron and must. It was revolting. Father May walked down the hallway faster to find the source of the smell. Someone must’ve thrown something out in the trash that went bad overnight. Something in his gut told him it wouldn’t be so benign.

The first thing he saw was blood.

Speckles at first, but the closer he got to the back of the pulpit, the more splotches and puddles he saw. He clutched his churning stomach, begging it to stay still.

Father May gagged when he saw a blue foot dangling from the steps of the altar. Had someone broken in and killed themselves?

He took tiny steps forward, needing to see the face but not wanting to.

The foot connected to a shattered shin. A bruised knee. The leg besides it was twisted into the shape of a V. Blood covered the thighs of the spread-eagle person- No, it was a man. Father May swallowed down bile.

The ribs were dented in. Dried blood and sickly black bruises covered the arms. The neck was more like mincemeat. And the face. And the face…

Father May bent over and vomited. He vomited up his morning tea and then his stomach acid and then nothing at all.

Splayed out before him like an abused sex doll was Deacon John. His grey eyes now an unblinking milky blue. His lips purple. His cheeks sunken in.

Who could have done such a thing? Father May dry heaved, falling down to his knees in the puddle of his own sick.

A sound like flapping wings echoed behind him.

Father May coughed and yelled, “Who’s there?”

There was a chuckle. The church was plummeted in a cruel darkness.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me-“

“Oh, shut up.”

♚

_“Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” James 4:7_

_“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39_

_“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28_


End file.
